When 'Will' My Reflection Show?
by depossede
Summary: Hannibal gets a taste of his own (metaphorical) psychological-warfare medicine. Only published two chapters so far, updates coming soon. The story will develop into Dr. Lecter contracting a very delusional-based mental illness.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Will's arrest, on Friday, struck everyone brutally. Well, everyone except for Dr. Lecter, that is. He was ecstatic about Graham being apprehended, he could hardly keep himself from smiling hearing about the evidence placed against Graham- his plan had worked. _His_ plan…..

Despite Will being incarcerated, Lecter had to remain his psychiatrist. Lecter would visit Will every Thursday, 3:00 pm until 4:30. Their sessions had grown quieter and more still since the slow decline of Graham's psyche. Lecter adored this. He loved silence. He loved seeing the pain and utter confusion inside Graham. But, most of all, he loved his success- the total annihilation and destruction he had caused. Even though he had committed countless murders before, seen all of these happenstances time and time again, this instance was incredibly enjoyable because he had caused such dawdling agony for one person, without taking their life.

This particular day was different for Lecter, far from enjoyable. Will had refused to talk to Lecter for most of the session. After asking a number of questions, and after those questions being left unanswered, Lecter decided to sit in silence for the remainder of the session, which was only 30 minutes left. At about 15 minutes left, Will finally acknowledged him, and with such fuming enthusiasm, that it startled the doctor a bit.

"You know what seems so strange about this all?"

Will forcibly, yet passively, asked.

"What is that Will?"

"It is that I remember transitioning into the killers when I wanted to, but yet I don't have one memory of killing any of those people. I have no history of violence, or any idea or where I would attain weapons to complete these murders!"

After taking a stride of a breath, through his nose, Lecter responded- Will noticed- nervously.

"Well,… Will, that is the point of transitioning, disassociating is commonly attributed with time loss, dementia, and a 'loss of personality', if you will.. No pun intended." The doctor said trying to lighten the tension between them, and if possible, make Will less angry. This was to no avail.

After a long, tense, and awkward silence, Will spoke again.

"I've been framed. I'm almost positive."

Hannibal twitched.

"Who do you think would frame you, Will? And, why do you think this?"

"I'm not sure. Someone that knew about my mental state, had access to my previous records, and semi to extensive knowledge of murder and criminal psychology."

After thinking through this statement, Hannibal responded.

"Will, you just described yourself."

He resumed his thought, ignoring Lecter and his previous statement.

"I think either you, or Jack Crawford did this."

Hannibal was growing impatient and couldn't bare such libel accusations. Nonetheless, he maintained his professionalism and replied calmly.

"What do you feel would be mine or Jack's motivations? ..Or whomever you think has done this to you."

"I'm not sure. Maybe.. they knew I was aware or had attained knowledge I was not supposed to have, and wanted to discredit me and my statements with my mental illness."

Will Graham had it. He knew Hannibal's motivations and even suspected him. A feeling of desperation washed over Hannibal, due to this thought.

The psychiatrist attempted to dispel this notion. He retorted slowly, closely choosing his words.

"I think that you are not sure how to live with the guilt of what you've done, and are placing your actions on a- an amalgam of those, who you feel have wronged you."

Will scoffed at this statement and resumed his rebellious silent-treatment.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The session was incredibly difficult for Hannibal to sit through; he was surprised he even finished the appointment without lashing out in some form at Will.

This was the first time since Hannibal had killed the fishmonger* that he had come close to losing his composition. This was the first time in a long time that he doubted himself and felt hot pangs of anxiety overcome him.

"Will…Knows.." He repeated to himself in disbelief. He couldn't fathom that he would ever be saying these words about his own plan, nonetheless that Will would be the subject of his unease. He knew that Graham was intelligent, possibly clairvoyant, but he never thought that this unstable man would even account the truth as a possibility.

The doctor rationalized this as he drove home for the night. Once home, he quickly chopped up some potatoes, carrots, and meat from his former accountant. After this was done, he removed the accountant's liver that was stewing in wine and garlic that he had in the refrigerator. He mixed these ingredients, then placed the mixture in a casserole dish, and covered the dish with kneaded dough. After an hour his dinner, the Baeckeoffe, was ready.

In his dining room, that he usually reserved for parties, the doctor ate his supper in silence. He felt as if this would be one of his last meals that _he _made, in _his _house. The thought disturbed him; being caught, humiliated, and sent to prison because he had failed to make a successful scheme.

On the other hand, he would finally get recognition for his genius, and all other plans that had prospered. He would be hailed as "One of the most notorious killers.." or " criminal mastermind," or even, "iconic". These were thoughts that reassured Hannibal and kept his mind at ease; sleep would come easily.

In preparation for slumber, the doctor completed his bed-time rituals- showering, washing his face, flossing, and finally, brushing his teeth. When he looked in the mirror, Hannibal was bemused at his reflection. His cheekbones were more severe than he had remembered. It was almost as if he was looking at a non-existent twin, or a weaker version of himself. This thought was preposterous. How could he look different than he had this morning?

He forced himself to dismiss this paranoia as delusions, or stress-induced fugue. The doctor considered this as he lied down, and turned off the light. Curious and worried, he put his hand up to his face and carefully drew his pointer-finger up and down the curvatures of his face and carefully examined the topography of his appearance. If it weren't for the pseudo-seriousness of this moment, one would perceive this as almost sensual. Soon, a worrisome thought came to Hannibal's sight, but he fearfully ignored it.

"This is not my face."


	3. Chapter 2 & 12

The psychiatrist woke up earlier than usual the next morning, due to lack of sleep; the thought that the face he wore was not his own scared him deeply and did not allow him to close his eyes. It was almost as if he were in an endless, surreal, irrational, nightmare.

Alas, Lecter still had to continue on with his business, and endure seeing patients.

He got out of bed, and started his morning ritual of getting ready; unclothed, stepped into the shower, washed his hair and torso, and quickly stepped out of the shower- no dallying. Then, he wrapped a towel around himself and stepped in front of the mirror to brush his teeth and prepare his hair for the day. But, as soon as the doctor saw "himself" in the mirror, he quickly ran out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to grab a plastic bag to cover up his reflection and complete his morning routine.

Once at his office, Lecter acted out an inner monologue: that the events of yesterday had not phased him, and he was as good- if not better than usual.

This was not true, and Lecter knew it.

'Who was this man in the mirror? What did he want? Is that really me?' Lecter thought to himself for the remainder of the day whilst serving patients- to whom he was miles away from. He finally "awoke" once Ms. Crawford's appointment time arrived.

Ms. Crawford intrigued the doctor greatly: she was mysterious, secretive, subtle, and manipulative- all qualities the doctor knew he possessed. Even though the doctor couldn't care less about Jack or about his relationship with his wife or the red-headed temp that Hannibal had killed, he cared- no, was concerned- for the fate of Ms. Crawford.

In the midst of Hannibal contemplating his feelings about Bella Crawford, he realized it was 12:30, ten minutes after her appointment began. He quickly got up form his desk, and opened his waiting room door to greet her.

"Good Morning, Dr Lecter," She said, her words cascading him like silk.

She was wearing a black, slimming dress, and a black sunhat(?), with a black veil over her face.

"Hello, Ms. Crawford," Hannibal replied.


End file.
